


if secrets were like seeds

by flintrage



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, John Silver Has Issues, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, OR IS IT, Porn with Feelings, Unrequited Love, also this isn't a jealousy fic Silver isn't jealous over the romantic aspects, anyway you can't tell because I never finished it but the feelings aren't exactly unrequited, inadequacy issues, it's more like. he's upset because he's never enough for the people he loves., wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 06:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintrage/pseuds/flintrage
Summary: I started writing porn and then within like two sentences it turned into angst instead, you're welcome.Silver wakes up from dreaming about Thomas and Flint fucking him only to remember that he lives in a world where Thomas and Flint would probably rather die than so much as lay a loving hand on him.





	if secrets were like seeds

Silver moans low in his throat when Thomas fucks into him, unbearably tender, his broad, hot hands tight on Silver's hips. James is muttering nonsense in his ear; he says _Good_ , and _You take him so well_ and _You're alright._

Flint says soft, terrible things, his voice warmer than Silver has ever heard it, until Silver feels like he's coming apart at the seams. He shudders, little gasps and stuttering moans tugged from his mouth every time Thomas ruts into him; hears Flint laugh fondly, hears him call Silver _beloved_ and _dear_ and lean down to kiss him just as Thomas gives a low groan and shudders and spends, Silver so close behind him--

When he wakes, he's half-hard in his breeches, thankfully unspent. The warmth of the dream hasn't faded, Silver's mind still pleasantly sluggish and soft; he lets the red-gold-orange of the dream wash over him, keeps his eyes closed. He can still hear Flint, how soft he'd sounded, praising Silver, calling him sweet things that he'd never--

Silver's eyes open, adjusting to the gloom. Reality rushes at him in a horrible, icy flood, sickens him to the stomach.

Flint is there, murmuring. Rather, _James_ is there, murmuring- and not to Silver, of course. Thomas is sprawled with his head in his love's lap ( _his_ love's lap), and even in the half-light of the dying fire Silver can see the open adoration between their gazes, eyes only for one another. His gut twists in disappointment.

The horror that leaps up his throat is so strong it nearly chokes him, makes his eyes sting horribly. At the full realisation of what's happened--the impossibility of the thing his dreaming mind has tormented him with, the disgust at his own imaginings--he feels the need to _run_. It's an animal need, like a spider scurrying from the light. Silver jerks up, suddenly, obeying that need. Like a fool, he forgets the leg- then there is the sharp cry and the painful thud of wood under him and it takes all of his willpower not to burst into tears then and there, one humiliation after another, horror after horror.

The shock of the impact freezes him, pain and humiliation rising hard and fast. He can't fucking believe his own mind. Can't fathom why he'd ever _dare_ to try and twist Flint and Thomas' affections for one another onto himself, even in sleep. He feels like a child again, creating comfort where there is none, always seeking what he can't have; feels like the thief he’s always been, trying to claim what isn’t his.

Before he can pull himself upright of his own accord, Thomas' hands are on him (those long, beautiful hands- hands he's _dreamed_ of, G-d help him), his voice low and worried, saying something Silver can't understand in his present state of wildness. Unthinkingly, he grabs Thomas' wrist _hard,_  shoves it away and snarlsat him.

"Don't,” he spits, bristling. Feels like he’ll _die_ if those hands touch him again. Feels like he'll die if they don't. But b ehind Thomas, he sees the shift from James to _Flint_ , sees him recognise Silver's violent grip and the way Thomas starts in pain and alarm; sees the nostrils flare, the eyes harden.

Waits for the low, angry voice. Hopes, horribly, for a blow to follow. For Flint to grab him by the scruff of the neck and throw him outdoors like an unwanted stray.

_Good_ , thinks Silver savagely, seeing Flint rise,  _Come and deal with me yourself._ When Flint lays a hand on Thomas' shoulder, Thomas shifts willingly aside, holding his hurt wrist; Silver braces himself for Flint's wrath, breathing hard through his nose, looking up at him.  _Just do it,_ he thinks wildly,  _just fucking get rid of me_ \- but Flint only looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line, and silently holds out his hand. Silver stares at it.

"Get up," says Flint quietly, and Silver doesn't understand why he isn't being murdered for grabbing Thomas like that. Flint's tone becomes pressing, in a way that says he'll pick Silver up himself if he has to, but would rather not. "Come on. Off the floor."

He takes that hand, eventually. Ignores the rough heat of it, the strength behind it as Flint hauls him carefully to his feet, the way those hands had felt in his dreams. Jarringly, Flint still doesn't drag him outside. He nudges Silver gently back into his armchair before withdrawing that hand from him, his expression unreadable, and behind him Thomas watches cautiously but without anger. 

"Sorry," Silver blurts, before either of them can ask if he's alright, because from the way they're looking at him he just fucking  _knows_ they're going to, "About your wrist. I wasn't... thinking."

"Not at all," says Thomas lightly, far more warmly than Silver expects. "I did grab at you, a little, and you'd only just woken up. I wasn't thinking either."

Silver doesn't say anything to that.

"Are you alright." Flint's voice is flat and neutral, but his eyes are on Silver in a way that makes him feel like he's being  _read_ somehow, like his innermost thoughts are being picked at and examined.

Silver only shrugs at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the abrupt ending, I'd been trying to edit this for days and tbh I am just. Too lazy to really conclude it properly, the end.


End file.
